A Study In Silence
by Little Box Of Secrets
Summary: First in the "Silent" series. Rose Spencer had just that day moved into 221B Baker Street, and already hell had broken loose. Now she was standing over the dead body of a man she had seen only an hour or so before.


**Summary**

**First in a series of AU Sherlock stories.**

**Rose Spencer had just that day moved into 221B baker street, and already hell had broken loose, no she was standing over the dead body of a man she had seen only an hour or so before. **

_**Warnings: minor violence, some foul language and a bit of gore.**_

**A Study In Silence**

Rose Spencer had just moved in that day, and all hell had broken loose. She didn't even understand how, let alone why.

She had gotten back from her shopping, made her tea, and sat on the sofa. She had then decided to go and unpack, and make up her bed. The simple task had taken the best part of an hour, as she took her time, and had a small fight with the bedding.

She then looked around the room - _her room _- and decided that some relaxing was in order. So she took out a sketch book, a couple of pencils, and her mp3 player and sat against the heater on the wall. It was surprisingly comfy, as well as warm, and she decided that this would be her new place to just relax.

She put in both head phones, and turned the volume up to full. She could barely hear her own thoughts, just the way she liked it. She let her mind wander a little bit, listening to the familiar lyrics of 30 Second to Mars' "Night of the Hunter." It was one of her favourite songs at the moment.

Listening to the soothing rhythm of the bass guitar and the drums, she thought of an image, and thought it would be feasible to draw, and would let her relax enough.

Putting pencil to paper, she started to plan out the long stalk of a flower, and the middle sitting on the top, becoming the focal point of two or three dying petals. They were to be curled slightly, and worn around the edges, soon to follow the other dying petals that were to fall down the page, next to the stalk, who's end was cut at an angle, as though it would be put on display.

The work had taken a couple of hours to complete, as she had tried to fill the whole page of A4 paper, but at the same time, keep the proportions of the flower right. She had also filled in all the little details that showed the petals being from the same flower, but at the same time, completely unique.

She had listened to a few CD's worth of songs by now, but just as the song changed, she heard a loud knocking from the front door, caught in the brief time it took for the next song to start.

Curious, she pulled out a head phone, and paused her music, only to hear the knocking again, but louder this time. Who ever it was, they were impatient, and seemed determined to enter the flat.

Getting up off of the cool floor, she put her mp3 and her sketching things on her bed, and made her way to the front door to open it, but when she did, she got a bit of a surprise.

Before she had even opened the door an inch, it was pushed fully open, causing her to jump back in surprise, and a man pushed past, ran up the stairs shouting something about a warrant. He was promptly followed by have a dozen people, all charging up the stairs.

"Hey!" She shouted, running after the small crowd.

When she got up the stairs and went into the living room, she found they had set about practically destroying things in what appeared to some mad hunt.

Raising her voice a little, better to be heard over the shouts of orders from the first man to his peers, she found she was ignored once again. A tall man, with bird like features and a pair of latex gloves on, picked something up from next to the chair in the corner, and gave an exclaim of "Got it!"

"Oi!" she shouted at the top of her voice, calling the entire room into silence as everyone seemed to notice her at last. _What am I, invisible today?_

"Who are you?" Asked the first man. He seemed to be in charge of the rest of them.

But she wasn't in the mood to play nicely now. "Who am I? I live here! Who the hell are you? And why the hell are you in my flat?"

He frowned, obviously not thrilled with her tone, though found it justified. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, with the Scotland Yard. We are here, with a warrant, for a drugs bust. We search the place for illegal substances-"

"Yes, I know what a drugs bust is, thank you!" I exclaimed, interrupting him. He seemed to get a little annoyed. He didn't seem annoyed with her though, which was a relief. "In who's name is it?" She had used to live a rough neighbourhood, and had heard of a drugs bust happening to friends of friends, so she knew how the system worked, though the DI seemed shocked at this fact.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Well that was just great. So, sighing, she decided that there was nothing she could do now, until he came back at least, _if_ he came back, so she made her way down stairs.

Just as she was about to open the door to her room, she heard the front door open again, and it made her pause. She then heard the sounds of two people coming into the flat, panting heavily, and laughing.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever done!" She heard John say, as he laughed, and what sounded like trying to catch his breath.

"And you invaded Afghanistan!" Was the joking reply. This was followed up by the pair of them breaking out in giggles again.

Rolling her eyes, she went to meet the two of them, to try to get some answers.

"You have visitors, it seems." She stated in a friendly tone, though her face said otherwise. They knew she was not a happy bunny at the moment.

"Visitors?" Questioned John, seeming to be a little lost.

"Visitors with a warrant." She expanded.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her, while John's went wide. She nodded up the stairs, and made sure not to flinch at the cold look Sherlock was giving her, as though it was all her fault.

The two men ran up the stairs, and she thought that she may as well follow them, and see what happens.

As she walked back into the room she heard Sherlock saying, "You can't just break into my flat."

"Well, you can't just with hold evidence, and I didn't break in to your flat." Was the reply he had gotten from the DI, who was now sitting casually in one of the arm chairs.

"It's a drugs bust." Said Rose, who thought she would throw in her two cents worth.

"What?"

"It's a drugs bust." Confirmed the DI, seeming to enjoy Sherlock's annoyance a little too much.

"Seriously?" Asked an incredulous John. "This guy? A junkie? Have you met him?" He seemed to think it was more of a joke, but she saw Sherlock turn a little quieter, and walk over to John, and say his name, trying to get him to stop talking. Her eyes went wide as she saw the scene unfolding around her. But John didn't notice and carried on sticking up for his friend. "I'm sure you could search this flat all day long and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." He said it with such finality that if the situation weren't so serious, she would have laughed.

"John, you probably want to shut up now." Sherlock was not one to beat around the bush, she decided.

"Yeah, but come on!" John turned to look at his friend, and they shared a look.

The penny seemed to drop in Johns head, and his eyes went wide again. "No…"

"What?" The reply was quick and had a slight air of defence about it. She smirked.

But John was still having a hard time believing it. "You?"

"Shut up!" Was the reply, and seemed to imply that was the end of it. He turned back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog!"

The DI just sat there and smiled. "No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." She wondered who was Anderson, but was soon answered when the DI nodded towards the kitchen, when the bird faced man turned and waved at them, face serious, but his eyes held a gloating and smugness that was directed solely at Sherlock.

Sherlock seemed quite annoyed at Andersons presence. "Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" It seemed Sherlock was hoping that Anderson would just agree and leave, but that wasn't the case.

"Oh, I volunteered!" The man said, malice lacing his voice. _It looks like they didn't get along,_ she mused. _Cant imagine why._

"They all did." The DI carried on, while Sherlock looked around, as though a solution would be written on the walls. "They're not ,strictly speaking, on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

Just then, a woman came from the kitchen with a jar in her hands. She had a brown jacket on, a pair of latex gloves, and very curly hair. "Are these human eyes?"

Rose blanked at that. "What?"

"Put those back!" Sherlock seemed to know what they were there, which did nothing to reassure her.

"They were in the microwave…" Said the woman.

"The microwave?" Rose really didn't know what was going on.

"Its an experiment!" Said Sherlock, as though it was stupidly obvious, and he was explaining it to a three year old.

She considered going to have a look, but then thought better of it. She really didn't want to know.

"Keep looking guys." Lestrade seemed to be winding Sherlock up on purpose, but she really couldn't find it in her to care. She was starting to think the man was barmy! "Or you could start helping us properly, and I'll stand them down." He said, as he stood up.

Sherlock was pacing now, and muttered something about the whole thing being childish as he passed the other man.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child! Sherlock this is our case, I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own, clear?" He said it with authority, but looked like he had said it a thousand times before.

While all this was going on, Rose had come to the conclusion - looking at the way they acted together - the DI and Sherlock worked together, and were working on a case now. _But then why would the DI say "letting you in"? _Maybe a consultant? He must be good then, but he was acting like a child at the moment. She just didn't understand him. But she would, she decided. She would get to know him a little better, if only to understand why her flat was being raided for drugs!

"So you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock seemed like he was used to how Lestrade worked, but was still getting annoyed with his methods.

"Stops being pretend if we find anything." Was the answer. He seemed like he knew they wouldn't find anything though, and it was more of a joke to him.

But this had hit a nerve with Sherlock, she could tell. "I am clean!"

"Is your flat? All of it?" Sherlock was getting agitated now, and the DI knew it.

"I don't even smoke!" He muttered, un buttoning his cuff and rolling up his sleeve. Stuck to the skin of his forearm was a nicotine patch.

Lestrade copied his actions, and revealed his own. "Neither do I."

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then all three men - as John had been looking on - turned away, and the two non-smokers rolled down their sleeves again. "So lets work together." Said Lestrade, as though this now meant they had something in common, though she could see it meant nothing to Sherlock. "We found Rachel." _Who?_

But it caught Sherlock's attention. "Who is she?"

"Jenifer Wilson's only daughter." Again_, who?_

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughters name? Why?" He seemed to be talking to him self, but Anderson had to chip in.

"Never mind that, we found the case." He pointed to the pink case he had found earlier, that Rose had seen, but not quite realised what it was, or that it wasn't hers, and she doubted it was either of the men's. "According to _someone_ the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

Sherlock rounded on him with a glare of deep contempt. "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high functioning sociopath, do your research!"

"Murderer?" Rose had just caught that and was now completely lost. They were looking for a murderer? But once again she was ignored.

"Anyway, can we find her? Bring her in, I'll need to question her-" Sherlock went off again, but was interrupted by the DI.

"She's dead, Sherlock." She would have expected that little comment to put a downer on Sherlock's parade, but she didn't even know what to think about her reaction.

"Brilliant! When did she die? Could it have had anything to do with this?" She didn't even know what _this_ was.

"Nope, impossible. Rachel was Jenifer Wilson's still born daughter. That was fourteen years ago, technically she was never alive."

This had confused Sherlock, it seemed. "Fourteen years ago? That doesn't make any sense, why would she still be upset about it?" He seemed to be thinking to himself, and must have not realised what he'd said, because everyone went quiet.

He looked up, scanned around, and his gaze fell on John. "Not good?" He said quietly.

"Bit not good, yeah." John seemed to be used to this, but Rose was confused.

"Sociopath, yeah I'm seeing it now." Anderson had made a cheap shot at Sherlock, and was ignored by all.

"What's going on, dear?" Mrs Hudson had come up the stairs to see what all the noise was about.

"Drugs bust, Mrs H." Rose filled her in briefly. But far from reassuring her land lady, she seemed more distressed.

"They're just herbal soothers, for my hip, you know." She said in a low, worried tone, earning an equally low, drawn out "Oh-kay…" back from her female tenant.

Suddenly, there was a loud exclamation from the middle of the room. "Shut up! I need to think! Everybody be quiet! Don't even breath! Anderson turn around, your putting me off!"

"My face is..?" Anderson was quite put out by that.

"Quiet! Anderson, your back, please." The DI seemed to know what needed doing, and co-operated with Sherlock.

"You can't-" Anderson started to protest , but was soon cut off by his boss shouting.

"Now!"

Everyone was silent, and Anderson grudgingly turned his back to the room. Sherlock started muttering, and after a few minutes, seeing that the entertainment was probably over for now, Rose decided to go back to her room.

On her way down the stairs again, she saw a man knock at the door. _What now?_

Opening the door, she saw a short man, flat cap on his head, with an old jumper and trousers on, and a taxi badge around his neck. His face was hidden in shadow though, and something wasn't quite right with him.

He smiled, "Cab for Sherlock 'Olmes." He had a thick cockney accent, which resulted in him dropping his 'H's, but she still understood him quite clearly.

"One moment." She replied, stepping back and letting him in to wait in the hallway.

Walking back up the stairs again - _good exercise_, she though absent mindedly - she poked her head in and found a couple of people whispering in a corner, and so assumed that she could speak freely.

"Sherlock." He didn't acknowledge her in way, though John turned around. She didn't look at John though, it was Sherlock's cab, and so it was him she would talk to. "Sherlock!" She was getting annoyed with this man, but took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Once more she tried, "Sherlock Holmes!" He still didn't turn around. She was pissed now, she didn't like being ignored so blatantly.

She marched right up to him and stood in front of him. She saw he had his eyes closed. This gave her an idea, and she smirked.

Then she slapped him - not very hard, but hard enough to "wake him up."

And it got just the response she wanted. His eyes snapped open, and he looked her right in the eye, glaring as though she had just punched him in the gut.

"What was that for?" He seemed a little out raged. _Shame_.

"I did call you, _three times_! Try answering!"

"You had nothing important to say, I'm sure!" They were now both shouting in the others face, the rest of the police, as well as John and Mrs Hudson forgotten to the pair, but still very much there, and looking on, un-aware of the cabbie that had come up the stairs, and was now standing in the shadows on the landing.

"Well you would know, if you listened!" They stood glaring at each other for a couple of beats, the room so silent a pin could drop. Then she took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and got back to why she was there in the first place. "Your cab is here."

"I didn't order a cab."

"Well let me rephrase then, a cabbie is waiting downstairs, with his cab out front. Its for you."

Just as he was about to retort with another quip, his face changed. He blinked, and frowned, his eyes searching hers. There was something; something he was missing.

Just as she noticed this change in his demeanour, his phone made a small noise. He had a message.

He took out his phone, and read it.

_COME WITH ME._

It was from the killer, it was Jenifer Wilson's phone number. The killer had text him. The killer was _here_.

He looked up and everything clicked into place as he saw the cabbie in the shadow, just catching a sliver of bright pink as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, and turned to go back down he stairs.

He looked back to his new flatmate, and saw that she was suspicious of him. She might be a little hard to shake off, but he could do it.

"Alright then." She knew he was going to say that, and had planned for it. She saw that small changes in his expression, and had caught the way his eyes had flickered over to the door. She thought the cabbie had come up the stairs - Mrs H wouldn't have caught his attention, and she swore she heard light foot falls descending the stairs - _but why would he be interested in the cabbie?_

"I'll see you out then." She twitched one of her eyebrows up, ever so slightly, and knew he caught the movement. It was a silent dare for him to argue the offer.

"Thank you." He responded tightly, having come up with nothing to deter the young woman.

The DI and John shared a look of confusion. They had no idea what was happening in the head of the genius or of the young woman.

Sherlock kept eye contact with Rose as he went to pick up his scarf, and his coat after putting the former on. Once he went to the door, she followed.

At the foot of the stairs, she spoke. "We will have to talk, if we're going to live together." She was unusually worried for him. She didn't trust the cabbie, and knew that something was going on.

He said nothing until he opened the door, looking out to see the cabbie leaning on the side of his black cab. He took out his gloves and made a snap decision; a choice he hoped he would not regret. She was smarter than the average person, she would understand. And hopefully get there in time. He chose, in that moment, to trust her.

And so he looked back, and said, in a voice quiet enough that the cabbie would not hear any accentuation on his words, but still loud enough so that she would. " We will have to, _when_ I get back." And with that, he winked, again so that the cabbie wouldn't see, gave her another look, and walked out the door, pulling his gloves on, and closed the door. And he was gone.

She frowned. Something was wrong. She knew it.

So she ran back up the stairs, still frowning in confusion and thought, and saw that the police raid was finishing up.

"John…" She went over to the man as he looked up, not wanting to be slapped. _Though it was funny to watch, _he admitted.

"Yeah?"

"What is going on?" She needed to find out, and she had a feeling John knew.

"Well…" he let out a long breath, thinking over how to summarise it all. "There is a serial killer running around, and he makes people kill themselves. Sherlock and I are helping to bring him in."

She blinked. Then, putting the insanity of it all aside, she thought. "How does he take them?"

John blanked for a second. She actually believed him. "Umm…We don't quite know. He hunts in a crowd. No one notices them go. Sherlock thinks they trust the killer automatically. We, well I, text him earlier, and said to meet him on Northumberland street, but it didn't turn out too well." He gave a tired laugh. "We ended up running round half of London chasing down some cab, and it wasn't even him! Just some Californian guy in the back. Weird, Sherlock had been sure he would come, said a genius always needed an audience. He got that right, eh?"

Hunts in a crowd…Chased down a cab…Cab for Sherlock Holmes…The absurdity of it all… The surreality…All this swirled in her mind. She knew they were all linked, but didn't know how…

Wait!

"A cab?" She asked_. It couldn't be. _She prayed she was wrong, though she knew she wasn't. She just knew.

"Yeah, why? And where did Sherlock go? Did he say?" John hadn't put it together yet, she saw that.

She hurried over to a box she had seen earlier and pulled out a large map of London, particularly, the part where they now lived.

"Some where quiet…Somewhere open…" She muttered to herself, as she tried to think where they may have gone. Her mind flew back to when she helped down at her old college in the evenings, practically no one was there, but it was always open because of the cleaners, and the odd late worker. It seemed a long shot, but it was all they had at the moment.

Scanning the map, she looked for any schools in the near vicinity, but would leave enough time that they could talk. John had said that the genius had needed an audience, after all.

Then she saw it. A further education college, not far from here, but also far enough away from most houses and shops. No one would see anything.

"Come on, John! I'll explain in the cab!" She shouted, running downstairs, grabbing her coat before darting out of the front door, and throwing up a hand to hail a taxi.

Just as one pulled up, John came out the door, looking as puzzled as a person could, and saw her getting in the cab. He sighed and thought he may as well, it would be the only way he found out what was happening.

"Okay…This sounds crazy…"She started, she didn't quite know how to explain their situation to her new companion. "Sherlock went to see the killer cabbie, and has, most likely been kidnapped…and the cabbie is probably planning on killing him…" _Yep, I sound like a nutty person, _she thought, frowning a bit deeper.

"Right….and how do you know this?" John knew that, being Sherlock, in the small time he had know the man, this is probably what had happened. He could just heard is sister when he told her about this later. _What on earth have you done John? _

"We argued, you were there, but he looked behind me, the only thing he could have seen was the cabbie that was in the hall. He knew Mrs H was there, and I don't think you did anything that held his attention, no offence. Also, a cabbie fit's the profile perfectly. You trust them enough to get in a car with them, then they drive you somewhere. No one notices one, because they are everywhere here, and they all look alike. Also, the cab you chased down. He was right. The cab that slowed down was the killer, but it wasn't the passenger, it was the _driver_. But no one ever thinks of the driver, they are just the back of a head." It had all made perfect sense, and she was a little surprised no one had seen it sooner. _Well, no one but Sherlock._

"Right, of course… And where are we going?" John had a slight sense of déjà vu. He had had a similar conversation with Sherlock only hours ago.

"An old further education college. It's not far away, but the time taken to get there is still long enough to talk to the passenger - Sherlock - and, presumably, make him worry a bit. Try to put him off his game. No one noticed Sherlock randomly running off, because he does it all the time, I would say, with out even explaining himself."

"Yeah, he did it earlier actually. Hold on, how do you know all this? Sherlock is the same, he sees everything, but I don't see how." John confirmed her suspicions, and had given her some new information. Sherlock was either bad at explaining things, or simply couldn't be bothered. Her money was on the latter.

"I will explain later, but right now, we have a killer and Sherlock to find." She stated as they pulled up to the college grounds.

The cab they were in pulled up along side another cab, and it gave them hope that this may just be the right place. But they were faced with another problem now. In front of the two cabs were two identical buildings, with a couple of windows lit up each, and no sign of movement what so ever. They could be in either building, and there was no way to find out which one, and by the time they did, it might be too late.

_They may not even be here, _a small voice said, _it may just be a coincidence. _She remembered how the previous week had gone, and could have laughed. _Yeah, coincidence._

Getting out of the cab, Johns leadership training kicked in a little. "You take the right one, I'll take the left." He said, looking over to the young woman as she nodded he agreement.

With that, they took off into their respective buildings.

As she ran into the building, she found herself looking into every room she passed. John, in the other building found himself doing the same thing.

After about five minutes of constant running and looking and questioning of cleaners to see if they had seen anyone, but as they could have predicted, no one saw anything, and they were slowly starting to loose hope, until one of them heard something. A small murmur of a noise, on the same floor, close by, but the door was as she heard it, she froze, straining her ears to the point where they almost hurt, she didn't even dare to breath._There! _Again she heard it, and had caught which direction it had come from. Thanking a god she didn't believe in for rubber soled trainers, she crept along the corridor as fast as she could with out making so much as a squeak. Now she stood outside two separate doors. She didn't know which one it was until someone spoke again - both lights were on, and both rooms were deadly was, until she heard the over confident voice of Sherlock Holmes. If it hadn't been for the content of what he said, she would have laughed in shear relief. But she didn't, because what she heard made her blood run cold.'The gun, please.' _He was asking for a gun? Surely not..._She looked in the gap between the door itself and the wall it was attached to, and saw a slice of a scene that would have her gasping in horror, had she not caught herself with her own hand over her mouth. She could just about make out the side of Sherlock's face, the back of the Cabbie's head, and a table in between the two seated men. She could also see a small, clear bottle with a silver metal lid, no bigger than a small medicine bottle, containing a single pill. But that wasn't what had caught her eye, not at all. What had drawn her gaze was the tip of the gun she could just about make out, pointed at her flatmate, the cabbie blocking her view of the rest of , distracted though she may have been, she didn't miss the pair of icy blue eyes that flickered up to the door at her apparently not-as-quiet-as-she-thought gasp. He had heard the small intake of breath, so slight and so quiet, he had thought for just a moment he had imagined it. But as his eyes flickered up to observe the door, he saw that he was not imagining this, as he saw one, wide, and very recognisable dark blue eye, just visible through the gap between the door and the wall. He internally smiled. She had noticed, and she had worked it tuned back to the cabbie opposite him, who hadn't noticed his eyes wander for that brief second.'You sure?''Oh yes. The gun''Funnily enough, no ones ever gone for that option, you know' he said raising the gun a little, aimed towards the sharp featured face of Sherlock Holmes.'The gun.' As he saw the cabbie squeeze the trigger, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, a single shinning eye close, and saw the side of his flatmates face as she turned away in horror. She didn't want to see him shot. As the flame was ignited at the tip of the 'gun' the consulting detective smirked at the cabbie, not even flinching.'I know a real gun when I see one.' He informed the killer. He saw the eye was back, and wider than before, though still just as shiny. 'None of the others did.' Was the reply he got.'Clearly.' He said dryly. 'Well, this has certainly been interesting, I look forward to the court case.' With that he stood up from the table, and started walking towards the door. Just as he pushed the door open, hiding the young woman hidden behind the door, he heard him speak again.'Just out of curiosity, did you figure it out?' The voice wasn't taunting, merely curious.'Of course, child's play.' Was the cocky reply she heard from him. _Don't do it, Sherlock, please, don't do it._'Tell me then, just so I know if I could have beaten you.' There was a beat, an eternal moment of silence. 'Come on, play the game!' _Game?_Then the door closed again, and she found that Sherlock was still inside.

She had to do something, but what? This was hardly a regular thing for her. Alright, she had to think.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her back against the wall, so that even if the door did open again, they wouldn't see her. This gave her a little more time, and a sprinkle of security in hiding. Not thinking _what_ exactly she was hiding from, she thought about what she had, and what she could use.

She had nothing. No weapon, no phone - she had left it at the flat in her hurry to find her flat mate - she could hardly go in with a stick or broom she could rob from a cleaner - _like they would let me have anything, anyway!_

All she had was her self. John was in the other building, and she didn't know if she could reach him in time, she didn't even know where she was in the building, never mind where he was.

Okay, well then what does she know that could help her here? Her hands were starting to shake, and once again she pushed back tears - they would not help here.

All she knew was that Sherlock would die if she didn't do anything - and that thought sent her into a round of panic - and there was nothing she could do about it.

Suddenly, she heard a gun shot. _I thought the gun was fake? _She thought, her mind now in a blind panic.

Her body acted of it's own accord as she threw caution into the wind and propelled herself off the wall and through the door. The sight that met her now streaming eyes - she couldn't hold back the tears anymore - made her stop in her tracks.

Sherlock was looking through a bullet hole in the window, and the cabbie was on the floor, groaning in pain. She saw a patch of blood on the fallen mans left shoulder, which was growing fast, but still sickeningly slow.

Suddenly, Sherlock turned away from the window - thankfully, appearing unharmed - and he ran over to the bloody cabbie, knelt on the ground, so that they were face to face, and growled out "I was right though, wasn't I?" On getting no reply, he let out another growl of frustration, and muttered "Of course I was!"

Standing up, and still not noticing the tear ridden woman by the door way, he looked down on the dying man. "Who was your sponsor?" He demanded.

"No…" Was the defiant, pain filled groan he got in reply.

"Your dying, but there is still time to hurt you." And with that, he stood on the bloody mans shoulder, just missing the wound, so that the small puddle of blood got substantially bigger, exceedingly quick. Rose was so sickened, she felt he own shoulder ache in some form of empathy with the injured man - even if he was a serial killer.

Not a second after this action, a not so small scream filled the room, followed by one word. One that would haunt her mind for a while, she knew. It wasn't what the man - obviously in shear agony - had said. It was how much pain he had said it with, that would haunt her. She always had hated it when people shouted, either in pain or anger, or some other negative emotion, but this was a whole new page of shouting.

"_Moriarty!" _

And with that final word dying on his lips, the man himself died, right there on the floor, bleeding and in agonising pain.

She had not made one sound since she entered the room. She had just stood there, and looked on, and if it weren't for the steady stream of tears running down her now blank and expressionless face, she would probably question herself being there at all.

But as the surviving man looked up in thought, his lips forming the silent word, learnt from a now dead man, his eyes zeroed in on the young woman he had failed to notice before. And as she looked up, his eyes caught hers, and a silent agreement passed between them. They would not speak of this little detail.

Rose found herself sitting next to the curly haired man, sitting just in side an ambulance. She didn't remember how she got there, or who gave her the ugly orange blanket , and if she was going to be quite frank, she didn't care. She had only come back to reality _- if you could call it that, after the day I've had _- because the DI, who had probably shown up around about the same time as the ambulance had, she figured, had wondered over to the pair of them. _Probably wants a statement…._

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me!" Started Sherlock, seeming quite annoyed with the sheet of material.

"It's for shock…" Said Rose in a quiet voice. She couldn't make up her mind whether she was in shock or not. She left it draped around her shoulders anyway. It wasn't doing her any harm.

"_I'm_ not in shock!" Was Sherlock's reply, equally as quiet, but the implication was thick in his tone. He thought _she_ was in shock.

"Yeah, well some of the guys wanted to take pictures as well, I think. So, a cabbie, eh?" He started casually, as though they were talking about who won a rugby game over the weekend.

"Yes, victims get into the cab, and he pulls a gun, makes sure they don't run, takes them some place quiet, and makes them chose a pill to take. A good pill, or a bad pill. Then they inevitably pick the wrong one and die." Sherlock stated it all, just as casually, as if it had been something he read, rather than lived through. "Did you get the shooter?"

"No, must have done a runner before we got here. And we have nothing to go on, of course!" Though he seemed more annoyed out of duty, rather than the fact that they had a mysterious shooter running around.

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Said Sherlock, looking up at Lestrade with a knowing smirk.

"Alright, gimme!" Lestrade knew the drill with Sherlock.

"That was a crack shot," The detective started with the facts, turning away from the DI and starring out across the street. " Not just a marksman, a fighter, his hand can't have shaken at all. Acclimatised to violence then, but he didn't shoot until my life was actually in danger, so strong moral principals." His eyes caught the man who had only met the day before. He actually seemed worried about them. But, when Sherlock looked over to him, he looked away, averting his gaze. As if he had done something that would annoy Sherlock, _guilt. _He would sort it out later though. "We are looking for someone with mil…" He caught his own words, realising what he was about to say, and his fast brain had put together the pieces, saving him from putting his companion in a very awkward situation.

He looked back to the man across the street and felt something akin to pride and gratitude towards the ex-military man. He smiled inwardly.

Of course, with the adrenaline still flowing around her system a little bit, she noticed a bit more than she usually would. And so paid attention to the conversation going on next to her. She also didn't miss the way Sherlock had stopped speaking and had looked back to John for the second time. It took her a few more seconds to put together the fragments of information, but when she did, her eyes went wide, and a fit of coughs took her, distracting both men from their conversation. This shook her out of her shock.

It was real, it did happen, and now she had to just do what she does best. Accept it, deal with it, and adapt.

Sherlock looked down at the young woman beside him, and saw the change in her eyes. She was coming round to what had happened. And she didn't seem to be freaking out too much. He caught her eyes, "You alright there?" He wasn't asking that though, and they both knew it. He was really asking if she was keeping up, and if she would tell the inspector the truth.

She looked up at him, eyes bright but wary. "Yeah, just fine." She said in a slightly breathless voice, caused by her coughing. She was replying with her sworn secrecy in the matter, a promise of silence. "I'll be back in a minute." She said, but then looked up to Lestrade. "Unless you need anything else?" Her eyes were sharp, and were clearly showing that the question was more out of politeness than anything else.

"Umm…no, but we will pull you in in the morning." He looked reluctant to say it, but the morning was a compromise she found herself willing to make. Nodding, she stood up steadily and took off the blanket, throwing it in the ambulance somewhere. Walking away she heard the DI talk to Sherlock again, asking him to continue. She knew he wouldn't, so she wasn't worried.

She made her way over to John, patting her pockets. Finding what she was looking for, she pulled out a small box of mint flavoured cigarettes and a fancy Zippo lighter. She had had it for her eighteenth birthday, and had used nothing else since.

Lighting up, and taking a long pull on the stick, she pocketed her lighter again, and walked up to John.

"Nice shot." She said in a low voice, making sure that no one else would actually hear them.

"Must have been, a hell of a shot, Donovan was just telling me all about it. The two pills?" He was subtly changing the subject.

"Yeah, but still a shot like that, from that distance?" She looked him in the eye and smiled.

"Well I suppose, a guy like that, he must have had enemies." She nodded, still smiling, taking another puff of the cigarette, letting the smoke billow around her. He carried on, " Are you ok though?" He was worried from the moment they got there, that it was wrong to bring her. He was ex-army and Sherlock was…well... Sherlock. But she was young, and seemed too innocent to be here, though the glowing end of the stick of white in her hand dulled that opinion slightly. _Full of surprises._

"Oh I'm fine, but are you?" She had an idea, but didn't know weather it would work or not. _Might as well try, _she thought.

"Yes, of course." He seemed confused, but went along with it.

But before she could say anything else, another voice beat her to the punch. "Well you did just shoot a man." It appeared that Sherlock was done with the DI for now as well. He gave her a knowing look; he knew what she was doing.

"Yes well…"John caught him self, and let out a long breath, knowing he was caught. "He wasn't a very nice man, was he?"

"Bloody awful cabbie." She agreed, smirking.

"Should have seen the rout he took to get us here." Joked Sherlock. They all burst into a fit of giggles.

Walking together down the road, John sobered up first and said, "Stop it, this is a crime scene, we can't laugh!" Even though he himself was smiling still.

"Well you shot him." Said Sherlock indignantly, which had him on the receiving end of a light shove from Rose, a sign to _shut up now._

"Sorry, it's the shock!" He shouted to anyone in the near vicinity. This sent John and Rose into another round of giggling, that was until John spied a black car pull up, a man getting gout of it.

"Sherlock, that's him. That's the man I told you about!" He seemed almost scared of this man, and defiantly distrustful.

"Oh I know exactly who that is!" Sherlock said, his voice laced with annoyance and knowing. Rose recognised the combination immediately and smiled, looking the new man over. The way he stood, the way he moved, and the air of being slightly above everyone else, yet knowing them all at the same time was vary easy to recognise, and as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she was right, and threw her head back, letting out a loud cackle of a laugh.

John threw her a look that clearly said he thought she may have lost the plot, but she controlled herself, just before John went to follow his friend.

"John!" She shouted over to him, halting him in his steps, causing him to look back at her. "Let them sort it out. Come on, he'll catch up!"

He seemed torn for a moment, but as she nodded her head in the direction they were originally going, he looked back to Sherlock, seeing that he hadn't stopped, and would indeed catch up to them. And a small part of him wanted to avoid the creepy man with the umbrella, though he would never admit it.

He shook his head, and turned back to Rose, following her, as she carried on at a slower pace. Taking out his phone he text Sherlock, telling him they would be at the new Chinese place down the road from the flat.

As they went to pass the flat, she told John he should go and get the powder burns out of his fingers, just to be safe. "We have time, after all", she had said to him.

While John went to do just that, as well as put the gun away, Rose went to her room to get her mobile. She didn't like going out with out it, it was a habit of hers. Checking it, she saw she had three new messages. Frowning, she checked them.

One was from her uncle, saying to call him soon. He wanted to make sure that she was alright, and that things would actually be worked out properly. She would do that later, she was in no hurry, and she still needed to go through everything that had happened that night.

The second had been from her brother in London - she had two, one in London, and her eldest brother in Porthcawl - saying he wanted to check out her new flat, and that he missed her cooking. She laughed at that. Maybe they would sort things out after all. She replied, telling him the address, and saying that he should pop around tomorrow afternoon. _Got to give a statement on my version of what happened when a killer got shot in the morning_, she though wryly.

The last text however, she didn't know whether to smile at, or frown at. She had an idea who it was from, but at the same time, it was still kind of creepy. He didn't even know her number…

_See you soon, Miss Spencer._

_MH_

It didn't seem like it required a reply, so she didn't bother. But she did think about it, and decided to ask Sherlock about it later.

After running a brush through her hair, she as about to go and wait in the living room, when there was a knock at the door.

Praying it wasn't something important, she begrudgingly went to answer it. On the other side of the door was a man, hair pulled back into a loose, low pony tail, and a short, dark beard on his chin.

"Sherlock text me," He said. "Said John forgot this earlier." He brought up his hand, holding a walking stick. It was John's.

"Umm…thanks. ."She said a little confused. She took it from him, and he turned to walk away.

Shutting the door, walking stick still in her hand, she called up to John, and made her way to the living room.

Just as she entered, she saw John drying his hands on a towel in the kitchen.

As his eyes, fell on the stick, his eyes widened. "Crafty bastard..." He muttered. She assumed he meant Sherlock. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head, and took the stick from her. It felt foreign in his hands now, and his leg didn't even ache. "Thanks," He said to her, as he leant the stick up against the wall by the chair.

With that, they smiled, and made their way to the Chinese place they had planned on.

Sitting down, after a walk in comfortable silence. They started to talk about everything that had happened.

Rose was told briefly about John's life as an army doctor, and how he had been invalided home after being shot in the shoulder. He told her that his limp was psychosomatic, and that he had gone for dinner with Sherlock earlier that evening, but not actually eaten anything because they were running over the roof tops and back alleys of London. Rose thought it would be an amazing thing to do, and told him so, earning a laugh. She proceeded to guess that this was how Sherlock had gotten him to realise that in fact there really was nothing wrong with his leg, getting confirmation after a shocked expression from John. Which lead to him asking again how she saw so much about people.

This lead in turn to her telling him about how she grew up, how her single mother had fallen in love with the woman next door, who then moved in, along with her two older sons. Rose told him all about how she grew up, and how she learnt to recognise that there were hints about when people were lying and when they weren't. How she took a GCSE psychology course and loved it, and went on to take it for A Level. She told him that she went more in depth into human behaviour, and how she taught herself to read people, practically perfectly, and how it helped her to control herself as well. "After all," She had said, "If your going to do something, you should do it right, and to the best of your ability."

And as they sat there, learning about each others hardships through the years, though they were both very different - and in her opinion, his were a lot harder - they kept an eye out for Sherlock, but part of them was just enjoying the little piece of normalcy they had.

As he walked down the street, Sherlock thought back on what had happened and what Mycroft had said. _Seems you have yourself a friend or two there Sherlock. Don't mess it up._

And he wouldn't. Though he doubted they were all friends just yet, they may just become that. He hoped so. It would be nice to have someone else to talk to other than Mycroft or Lestrade. Molly didn't count.

Seeing them through the window of the restaurant, he smiled briefly, taking in the sight.

An ex-army doctor, invalided home from Afghanistan; short blond hair, worn face, lightly tanned, as were his hands, the tan line at his wrists hidden by the cuffs of his stripy blue shirt. He noticed no walking stick near by, and wondered if Angelo had caught them in time. Opposite him was a puzzle. A young woman, new in London, and very observant. Long brown hair fell down her back, and behind her ear, letting her dark blue eyes see clearly. Her coat was over the back of her chair, showing a large baggy black t-shirt with a silver chain over the top of it. The pair of them were talking lightly, and occasionally their eyes would look over to the door. It seemed they were waiting for him.

Walking through the door, he started to take off his scarf, walking over to the chatting pair.

"Well that was tedious!" He stated, referring to his conversation his brother.

"What was his name?" Rose asked, catching him off guard.

Frowning in confusion, he replied. "Mycroft. That's all you need to know. That and he is the most dangerous man you will ever meet." Why would she ask? Surely John had told her about his _run in _with him.

She gave a nod. She was right then. Well, now she would just have to wait. If it was going to be anything like Johns experience, then he would find her, when he was ready to. God, she hated waiting.

She could see Sherlock was about to question her in return, but thankfully John asked him another first. "You were going to take that damned pill, weren't you?" _He was? _This worried her, _why would he do that?_

"Of course not." He brushed it off. "I was just biding my time. Knew you would help out."

She raised an eyebrow at him, whether at his help out comment, or for the blatant lie he just told. "Liar." She called him out on it.

"Why would I do it?" He challenged her.

But John stepped in before they started a more heated argument. "Because you're an idiot." Sherlock snorted.

She thought for a moment. "That's what you do isn't it?" He looked at her. "You risk your life to prove your clever."

He lent on the table, looking her dead in the eyes, and replied, "I can always predict the fortune cookies."

She laughed, and that was the end of it, and the beginning of a lot more.

After they got in that night, Sherlock shouted out to Mrs H that John would take the room upstairs. He had just laughed and went to crash on the sofa. Sherlock went up to his room, and Rose went to the kitchen to get a glass of water before going to her room to collapse in a heap of slumber, not knowing what the next day would bring.


End file.
